Game Of Hearts
by PocketSizedWolf
Summary: A Series of Murders leave Sherlock stumped, so he calls in some help, much to the irritation of his brother. May be rated M in future chapters.. We'll see.. Jim Moriarty/OC
1. Chapter 1

"She was brought in this morning" Molly Hooper smiled as she watched the tall detective bend over the corpse of a young blonde. Her face had been clawed, her eyeballs removed, blood was matted into her hair. It made Molly feel slightly nauseated, but she dealt with this day after day. Now wasn't time to start getting squeamish.  
"Anderson thinks it's a case of domestic violence.." Lestrade said as he and John Watson made their way to Molly's side. Molly glanced at John who was biting his lower lip in a way that told Molly that he was thinking exactly what she was. What kind of monster could do this to someone?  
"Anderson is an idiot." Sherlock said simply, not at all phased by the appearance of the woman as he picked up her hand, inspecting it. "I've never seen a case of domestic violence in which a woman's fingernails were completely pulled off.." he raised the hand so they could all see. John winced.  
"She was found in Lambeth.." Lestrade continued, watching with a frown on his face as Sherlock pulled out his magnifying glass, inspecting each of the bruises and the deep wound on the woman's head.  
"She was dead when this wound was made.." Sherlock raised an eyebrow, taking a folder from Molly without a word as he flicked through it. "Tetrodotoxin?" he frowned, looking up at the pathologist.  
"Yes, puncture wound in the neck.."  
"See, Lestrade. There's proof."  
"Proof?" Lestrade looked confused, glancing to John who merely shrugged "Proof of what?"  
"Proof that Anderson is an idiot."

"It's not often you're stumped.." John watched from his armchair as Sherlock paced. The Detective had his fingers pressed together in his usual way, but stopped at John's words. "I'm not stumped."  
"Yes. Yes you are. Three murders, Sherlock, and you still have no idea." the detective shook his head and continued pacing, moving towards the wall by the window, on which he'd started to stick things, notes and photographs, that would help him with the case.  
"I can't help but think there's a pattern.." he muttered to himself. "There's definitely a link.." he frowned, looking over the items.  
"Sherlock.. you need sleep.." John sighed, rubbing his eyes. The Detective had not slept since the day of the first murder. Five days later and John was sure that the lack of sleep was not helping his mind in the slightest. It certainly wasn't helping his temper.  
"Body one, found in Lambeth. Eyes removed... Body two, discovered on Regent Street. Tongue cut from her mouth... Body three, chained to the gate of the Admiralty Arch. Ears cut off.."  
"Yes, you've said.. Sherlock, you need to sleep."  
"No. I need help." John looked at his friend as the detective moved closer. He sighed.  
"No. Mycroft will kill you."  
"But I need her help"  
"You can't just drag her out of school again."  
"She hates school"  
"Sherlock!" John sighed, shaking his head. "Her education is important."  
Sherlock laughed "John, she knows everything they're teaching her al-" his sentence was cut off by Lestrade entering the room, a frown on his face.  
"There's been another."

Sherlock inspected the corpse with a constant frown upon his face. Molly Hooper was convinced this was the first time she'd seen him frown during a murder investigation. Usually he was bouncy, happy even. Murders meant his brain had something to do. Sherlock's eyes scanned the body, noting the lack of teeth in the dead man's mouth. Like the three previous murders, the fingernails had been completely removed.  
"Where was he found?" John asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.  
"Hanging from one of the capsules of the London Eye.." Lestrade replied as the two men watched Sherlock continuing his inspection. The detective finished up before moving towards the other two men.  
"John.." he started, but the doctor cut him off  
"Yes, alright, I'll call her." he sighed, pulling out his phone.  
"No, text. You know she won't speak."


	2. Chapter 2

Getting out of school and back to London was always so easy that she considered it dull, and yet, when that text message had arrived late in the evening, she knew she'd have to do it all again.

_Sherlock needs your help. -JW_

She'd packed quickly, throwing some basic things in her bag. She wouldn't need clothes. Sherlock kept emergency clothes for her in the bottom drawer of his dresser. All she needed was some money for the train, and a book for the journey.  
_I'll be at King's Cross at 8.. -A x_  
she sent back, dropping her phone into her pocket.

At midnight, she slipped out of the private room that Mycroft had paid for, making her way swiftly towards the science labs, knowing she'd left one of the windows open. The trip downstairs was uneventful, and before she knew it, she was running along the road towards the train station.

"She's on her way.." John put his phone down on the arm of the chair, watching Sherlock as he studied his 'crime wall'.  
"Of course she is. She can never resist a crime scene." the corners of Sherlock's mouth curved into a grin.  
"You know you can't just get her out of school when ever you feel like it. Mycroft will have a heart attack when he finds out."  
Sherlock ignored John's words and brushed his fingers over the latest photo on his wall. There was a definite link, why wouldn't it form in his mind? He moved to his desk drawer, pulling out a nicotine patch and sticking it on to his arm, inhaling deeply.  
"What kind of person removes another's nose and fingernails?" John asked as he watched his flatmate. Sherlock shot him a look, one that told John to stop talking and leave the room. Sherlock needed to go to his mind palace. With a sigh, John rose from his seat and made his way out of the flat. He might as well go and pick her up from King's Cross.

She watched out of the window as London grew closer, her heart racing in excitement. She did love a good murder mystery. Exiting the train, she looked around, spotting John Watson in the crowd.

"Annabelle.. Safe journey?" he asked, knowing he was going to get no answer. Anna didn't speak much to anyone who wasn't Sherlock Holmes. She nodded in response to John's question, however, and followed him out of the station, and into a taxi that John had hailed down.

"Sherlock.." Anna grinned as she entered 221b, moving to quickly hug her uncle before pulling back. John entered not long afterwards, just in time to see the brief flicker of affection wash across Sherlock's face as he returned Annabelle's hug. She instantly moved towards his crime wall, her eyes flickering over the photographs and notes that Sherlock had scribbled on post-it's.  
"And you have no idea?" she asked, brushing her long brown hair from her face.  
"Some." Sherlock stiffened, looking down at his niece.  
"But not enough that you could work it out alone?"  
John chuckled softly, watching as Sherlock frowned. He did enjoy the way Sherlock's niece kept him on his toes.  
"Go on then, you have a go."  
Anna looked at the first photo, tilting her head. "Alright.. Tell me about it."  
John's phone rang, causing Sherlock to frown. John rolled his eyes with a nod, moving out of the room to answer it.  
"Body one, found in Lambeth. Eyes removed... Body two, discovered on Regent Street. Tongue cut from her mouth... Body three, chained to the gate of the Admiralty Arch. Ears cut off.. Body four, hanging from the London Eye. Nose missing... All four with fingernails pulled off"  
She nodded. "Where in Lambeth?"  
"Sherlock..." John re-entered, placing his phone into his pocket as he moved towards the two.  
"Not now John.. York Road.." he answered Anna's question, shooting a glare at his best friend.  
"Sherlock.. There's been another three."  
"Three?" Sherlock frowned, turning to look at John before moving to pull his coat on. "Then we'd better get to the morgue."

"This one was found in Trafalgar Square.." Lestrade spoke as Molly pulled back the sheet to reveal a pretty redhead with her voice box missing, her nails, like the other's, pulled off. Annabelle moved closer, and Lestrade, Molly and John were unable to hide their discomfort. The three of them had argued with Sherlock about the teen's presence in the morgue, feeling that what they were about to see would disturb her, but Sherlock knew his niece better than they did, and he knew she'd seen worse. Her eyes scanned over the woman's body, her fingers brushing over her own throat as she thought of the trauma the woman would have had to suffer to receive such injuries.

"The other two?" Sherlock asked, moving to the other two gurney, pulling back the sheets himself. On one lay a teenage boy, on the other an elderly woman.  
"He's missing his heart, she's missing her lungs.." Molly said as she moved closer, glancing down at the sheets she'd filled out mere minutes before the arrival of the consulting detective and his entourage.  
"Found in Monument and Russell Square respectively." Lestrade filled them in, before moving to the window of the room, glancing out on to the street below.  
Sherlock picked up Molly's note and scanned through them as Annabelle gave the bodies a closer inspection. Though much like her uncle in more ways than she cared to admit, she was not quite as closed off to her emotions, and she couldn't help but feel something as she looked down at the teenage boy. She was about to turn and speak to Sherlock when the doors to the morgue opened and another body was pushed through, DS Sally Donovan following it.  
"Found on Oxford Street" she said to Lestrade, before looking in Sherlock's direction. "Oh, should have known the freak would be here."  
The Consulting Detective didn't react, but merely moved towards the other body, but Annabelle shot the DS the angriest glare she could muster. Sherlock checked over the other body. Skull smashed open, brain removed, fingernails ripped off. He frowned. They were getting more frequent now.

Annabelle sat at Sherlock's desk, scribbling random letters onto pieces of paper as John and Sherlock sat in their armchairs, John typing away on his laptop, updating his blog, and Sherlock sat plucking the strings of his expensive violin, trying to jump-start his brain.

"That sounds horrible.." John commented for what was probably the hundredth time.  
"Helps me think.." Sherlock said simply, plucking another string loudly.  
"Does it though?" John looked at his friend who frowned, before returning to his string plucking.

Anna couldn't help but chuckle at the exchange as she continued looking down at her piece of paper. The letters spelt nothing, they made no sense. Unless.. She frowned, pulling out another piece of paper, scribbling another few letters down.

"It only attracts the boring cases anyway.." Sherlock huffed, placing his violin on the floor.  
"It's your livelihood Sherlock.." John protested. Anna watched for a moment as the argument became a little more heated, each of them throwing stupid comments to one another, though it was obvious to her that they were both just wound up about the case.  
"Sherlock.." she sighed, standing up just as her uncle demanded that John 'stop forcing his opinions on the world'. He didn't say anything, but merely looked at her. "Who's Moriarty?"


	3. Chapter 3

The minute his name had spilled from her lips, Sherlock jumped up to check his niece's notes. At exactly the same time, however, two figures silently moved into the room, unnoticed by the trio.  
"Never you mind, Annabelle Holmes.." the voice caused them to freeze, and Anna glanced up, frowning. Her father and his PA stood before them, Anthea tapping away on her phone, barely looking up.  
"What are you doing here, Mycroft?" Sherlock snapped, not looking at his brother, but focussed on the scribblings on the piece of paper.  
"I've come to take my daughter back to school where she belongs." Mycroft nodded to Anthea who put her phone away, moving to grab Anna by the arm and lead her down the stairs, into the car waiting outside. Sherlock frowned as he watched the scene.  
"She was only helping."  
"During term time. Honestly, Sherlock, you act like she's your daughter. Might I remind you that she isn't. She's mine, and I want her in school."  
"She hates school"  
"Beside the point. She needs an education. I'm surprised at you, John."  
"I-" the Doctor opened his mouth, frowning and about to protest his innocence when he was interrupted.  
"John had nothing to do with it, now get out Mycroft. We'll, no doubt, see you next week when she runs away from that dreadful school again."

Mycroft got into the car and glared at his daughter before tapping the dividing glass with the tip of his umbrella. The car instantly pulled out, beginning it's 3 hours journey back to the school Annabelle was always so keen to leave.

"Why must you always escape?" Mycroft asked after half an hour of awkward silence. Annabelle looked at him, raised an eyebrow and turned back to staring out of the window. He sighed softly. Their relationship wasn't exactly a calm one. In fact, due to his work, they barely saw one another. Annabelle saw this as neglect on Mycroft's part and refused to speak to him.

"Your mother wouldn't approve.." The words caused Anna's jaw to clench, as it always did when anyone brought up her mother. She wanted to scream at Mycroft, tell him he wasn't worthy enough to even mention her mother's name, but she didn't. She remained silent, merely watching as they got closer to her school.

"If this happens again, Mr Holmes, we'll have to expell her." The headteacher frowned, looking over Annabelle who avoided her gaze.  
"I don't think you will."  
"I'm sorry?"  
"Need I remind you who I am, Mrs Osman."  
"No, Mr Holmes." the headmistress straightened up. "Annabelle, get back to your dorm. Spend this afternoon thinking about your actions, and I expect you to be in art class at 9am promptly. You've got a new teacher, let's not give him a bad impression, hmm?"

"I knew that would happen" John had said the minute Mycroft had stormed from the flat.  
"Yes, as did we all, John. But still, she cracked it."  
"What?"  
"The link. Look.." he passed John Anna's paper

_Body Number Six. Found at Monument - M_  
_Body Number Eight. Found on Oxford Street. - O_  
_Body Number Two. Found on Regent Street - R_  
_Body Number Four. Found on London Eye. - I_  
_Body Number Three. Found at Admiralty Arch - A_  
_Body Number Seven. Found at Russell Square - R_  
_Body Number Five. Found at Trafalgar Square - T_  
_Body Number One. Found on York Street - Y_


	4. Chapter 4

"He's leaving us a message, it's blatantly obvious.." Sherlock beamed slightly, as he often did when something in a case clicked. It was Moriarty, and it was so obvious that he wasn't sure why he'd not noticed it before. His niece was brilliant, he knew that, and sometimes a crime needed a new set of eyes examining the evidence. Besides, he'd have figured it out eventually, particularly when all the clues had been set. Word play wasn't his favourite clue, however. Using the London Eye as an I.. Moriarty really was a genius.  
Annabelle stared at the ceiling. She'd barely slept the night before, she hardly ever could in this place. She slipped out of bed and glanced out of her window. Eight months before, they'd drilled bars over her window to prevent her escaping by climbing down a sheet-rope after an incident had left her with a broken ankle. Slowly, her school was becoming like a prison to her, and she hated it ever so. She didn't speak to anyone, couldn't speak to anyone. Since the day her mother had been killed, Anna hadn't spoken to anyone apart from Sherlock and, upon occasion, John, though never when Sherlock wasn't there. She preferred silence. She was different to all the other girls, the rich girls who often bragged about what their parents could get them, how powerful their parents were, the special gifts they'd received for their sixteenth birthdays. They never tried to include her, and she didn't care that they didn't. She preferred her own company. It was ironic, she'd realised one morning, that they all competed over who's family was more influential, while she, the daughter of the man running the country, sat in silence. She looked down at the tray of food they'd left for her to eat and picked up a boiled egg, slowly eating the egg white before dropping the yolk back on the tray. She didn't want to eat anything else, but she never did. Food was the only thing she could control in her life, and she often found that not eating was better than the way she felt about herself when she did eat.

She stepped out of the shower, towel-drying her long, dark hair. It fell about her shoulders, curling slightly but not enough to be actual curls. Naturally, it fell somewhere between curly and wavy, but never quite either. Usually by the end of the day, it had become slightly frizzy. She hated it, but never cared enough about her appearance to do anything about it, unless she had somewhere important to be, which wasn't very often. She didn't even bother with make up most of the time. She quickly slipped on a comfortable pair of leggings and her baggiest jumper. She didn't care for the school uniform, and never wore it. She had no interest in looking like an idiot in the hideous black blaiser and pleated skirt combination, and the hat was out of the question. After 5 years of trying, the school had given up on giving her detentions for not wearing it.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at Lestrade as the man continued asking him ridiculous questions.  
"I don't know, Inspector.. But it's definitely Moriarty" the detective handed over the piece of paper Anna had scribbled on, watching as Lestrade's eyes as he read over the words.  
"Why would he bother?"  
"To get my attention?" Sherlock shrugged "Because he was bored, probably.."  
"Innocent people have died because a bored psychopath wants your attention?"  
"Not the first time it's happened.." Sherlock pointed out. "But me being here isn't helping, he'll send me a direct message sooner or later..."

"You're late, Miss Holmes.." the art teacher watched her as she entered the room and made her way towards the back, heading for her usual easel by the large window at the back of the room. She shrugged at her teacher, giving him no word of reply as she sat down. Art was her favourite subject, and her old teacher had liked her, despite Annabelle constantly refusing to paint what the teacher asked for. She much preferred to draw how she was feeling. She pulled out her iPod and ignorantly put her headphones in, glancing at the bowl of fruit in the centre of the room. If he thought she was about to sit sketching fruit for two hours, he had better think again.

Her new art teacher's brown eyes watched her constantly, reading everything about her. She was the perfect prey, and she was going to make such a good little trophy for him. The daughter of the great Mycroft Holmes, niece of the amazing Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. Oh yes, he thought, licking his lips slightly, Annabelle Holmes was the perfect prize.

"Good morning, class.." he smiled, moving to the board "My name is Mr Zucco.. but you can call me Jim."


	5. Chapter 5

She felt him behind her, towering over her. His eyes sent chills up her spine, but she kept up her façade. She wouldn't look at him, wouldn't remove her headphones to listen to him. She didn't care. Why should she? He was just another boring teacher who, at the end of the day, answered to Mycroft, and Mycroft would do anything to keep her in school. She yearned for this school year to end so she could leave the damn place and never return. Her paintbrush skated delicately over the paper in front of her as she began to colour the image she'd spent the past half hour sketching. Mr Zucco, or whatever his name was, hadn't moved from behind her for the last 15 minutes, and now she was forgetting to care.

He watched her with a smirk, his eyes feasting on her. She wasn't as he'd expected, not really. He'd expected a pampered, spoiled aristocrat who dressed like a tramp and flirted to get the things she wanted. After all, he'd seen Sherlock act in a very similar fashion with Molly Hooper, flattering her for access to the morgue. He'd expected Mycroft Holmes' daughter to be as arrogant as him and his brother. She gave the impression that she was, but Jim knew better. It was all an act, a defence, and one that he could manipulate to draw her closer. He knew of Mycroft's plans to marry her off, make her a pampered princess locked in a tower with her new husband, royalty no doubt knowing Mycroft. Jim planned to ruin that, ruin her reputation and make sure that Mycroft Holmes couldn't improve his power by exploiting the girl. So far, she was proving to be a challenge. The other girls in her art class, the ones who had fitted the stereotype he'd expected, were attempting to flirt with him, trying to flash more flesh than they normally would. Skirts had been pulled up to ridiculously short lengths, pens and pencils were being dropped at fairly regular intervals, and yet he wasn't at all interested. Annabelle Holmes drew his attention by not wanting to be seen at all.

He'd let this go on long enough, he decided. He'd let her control the situation for too long now. Carefully, he leaned forward and pulled one of her headphones from her ear, his lips inches from her earlobe as he whispered softly  
"That doesn't look like a bowl of fruit.. I think we need to move you to the front of the class until you learn to do as you're told.."  
She looked up at him and frowned, slowly replacing the earpiece in her ear before carrying on with her work. _Oh excellent_, Jim chuckled. With a frown, he violently tugged the wire to her headphones, ripping them from her ears and the iPod, and threw them to the floor. She turned and glared at him, not a sound escaping from her lips though Jim could tell she was thinking a hundred different curses. He smirked, leaning forward once more, keeping his voice low so that only she could hear.  
"I know your sort, Miss Holmes. Daddy in the government, spoiled but neglected. You want his attention, so you act out, but when you get his attention, you remember how much you hate it.. " she could hear the smirk as he spoke, but still didn't reply. She'd never spoken a single word to anyone at this school, why would she start now?  
"I'm sure the other teacher's punish you by telling him, right? Well I'm not like them.. If you don't start to do as you're told, I'll be telling him just how good you've been, how creative you are. You want to be invisible, I'll make you the opposite, I'll make sure that everyone knows your name, and everyone knows just how good you are at art.. Now I won't ask you again.. Move to the front.." His words surprised her, but she found herself getting up from her seat and moving towards the empty seat at the front. She'd come up with some way to get back at him, she was sure. "Oh and Miss Holmes.. Do make sure you return after you finish your lessons... I believe you're meant to have detention when you turn up to classes late..."

The rest of the school day went by relatively uneventfully. He was bored, the students weren't in the least bit interesting and he found himself glad that he'd never gone in to teaching in the first place. He didn't understand why people did. A bunch of idiots teaching other idiots how to waste their lives being boring and ordinary, that was all it was. Boring. Predictable. So incredibly dull. The knock on his classroom door at the end of the day, however, perked him up a little.  
"Come in.." he called out, not looking up as the petite brunette entered the room, closing the door behind her. She stood, waiting for instruction, not wishing to irritate this weird teacher into making her the centre of attention. He glanced up after a short while and motioned at the small table in front of his desk. She sat down, placing her bag under the table and looked at him expectantly.  
"Are you often late to lessons?" he asked, his eyes fixed on her. She shivered lightly, feeling somewhat like a mouse cornered by a large cat, about to be devoured. She nodded in response to his question, and he frowned.  
"This mysterious silent thing doesn't really work for me, Annabelle.. I understand that most teacher's let you get away with whatever you want because they're frightened of your father, but Mycroft Holmes doesn't intimidate me in the slightest, so you can drop the act.." He moved towards her, perching on the edge of her desk. She was beautiful, he couldn't deny it. A bit too skinny, too untrusting, but beautiful. She refused to look at him, staring instead at the dark wood of the table. Carefully, he reached over and lifted her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye. She caught him offguard, her bright blue eyes reminding him of Sherlock and almost throwing him completely.  
"I know what it's like to have a father like Mycroft Holmes.." he lied, his thumb lightly brushing over her skin. "You don't have to pretend with me.."

His eyes drew her in. She didn't know how, or why, but she found herself completely lost within the deep brown hues, completely overwhelmed. He was attractive, she realised, and his word were.. different. He spoke to her like no one else had, treated her like an actual human being and not the daughter of the British Government. Without a word, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his.

"Oh God, I'm sorry.." she pulled back, biting her lower lip. He raised an eyebrow, the sound of her voice surprising him. He'd expected.. something else, something more like Sherlock or Mycroft. Posh and commanding, not soft and gentle as hers had been. He cupped her cheek gently and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. He wasn't sure why, it wasn't in his character.  
"Don't be sorry.." he whispered softly as he rose from the desk, taking her hand and pulling her up with him. She quickly found herself in his arms, inhaling his scent. He ran his fingers through her hair, holding her close. Making her feel secure, he told himself, making her trust him, that's all this was. A game.

Her eyes met his once more, and he could have sworn he had lost the game already. He pressed his lips to hers again, his eyes closing as he continued to toy with the thick, dark hair that fell down her back. She was soft, and more vulnerable than he knew she'd be and somewhere deep inside of him, James Moriarty felt the need to protect this beautiful, fragile creature. She's a Holmes, he reminded himself, this was a game, he was just toying with the Holmes brothers and she was just the easy way to do it. So why was he still kissing her?

She fell into her bed just after midnight and stared at the ceiling, thinking. Who was this man? Where had he come from? And how on Earth had he managed to smash through her defenses so easily, so effortlessly? She'd spoken to him, and not just once. She'd spent hours talking to him, actually talking in a way that she only ever did with Sherlock, or Scarlett, the woman Mycroft had hired to take care of her after her mother had died. No one else had heard her speak for 9 years, with the exception of John Watson and Mrs Hudson when she'd been in Sherlock's company, and even that had taken a while. Mr Zucco had quickly invaded her mind. Jim, she corrected herself, Jim had invaded her mind. She needed to learn more about this man, she decided as she slowly drifted off to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello to my lovely friends and followers.**

**I'd just like to apologise for the length of time it's taking me to update this story, but my writing mojo has disappeared somewhat (along with my appetite, it seems)**

**Thank you for your lovely reviews and follows and favouriting and everything.**

**Love to you all.**

**PSW xx**


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